


Head Above Water

by VeloxVoid



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Coping, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Forehead Kisses, Gentle Kissing, Hurt/Comfort, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24324880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeloxVoid/pseuds/VeloxVoid
Summary: Both Dimitri and Dedue are traumatised from their past. They are each other's comfort - marriage binding them as one forever. But, Dimitri discovers, Dedue has a secret way of coping with the nightmares that plague him.
Relationships: Dimidue - Relationship, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Dedue Molinaro, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 8
Kudos: 52
Collections: Dimidue Week 2020





	Head Above Water

He was drowning.

His own blonde hair snaked and wrapped around him; almost like a snare, it swum around his head, flowing into his eyes and nostrils and tightening around his neck. It made Dimitri cry out, screaming for help. But, submerged beneath the water, sinking to his demise, the noise was no more than a muffled, bubbling sound - far too quiet to be heard.

The water stung his eyes. Like tears, it pressed against them - salty and unrelenting. Yet, unlike tears, this water was _cold_. Icy cold - painfully so, like when Fhirdiad’s fountains would freeze in the winters to turn the water solid and frigid. Cold, like the corpse of his father; once, the old King’s skin had been so warm - almost caustic against Dimitri’s small hands as a child. But, the last time he’d seen his father before the burial, and he’d reached out one last time to touch that familiar face, the cold that met his fingertips had seemed to bite at him.

Dimitri found himself crying for his father to save him. He kicked out helplessly against the water, pulling desperately at his own hair that had created a noose around his delicate throat. He screamed, and flailed, and begged for King Lambert. But he was sinking. 

A figure swam out from the blue. Just as Dimitri’s brain was beginning to grow foggy, his lungs screaming out from lack of oxygen, something appeared from out of the depths.

A hand, outstretched towards him. The boy reached out and wrapped his own around it, but felt no resistance. He watched as his fingers sank through the pale skin - watched it slough off as a murky black emerged from beneath, revealing the creamy white of bone.

Yet, before he could even give so much as a shout, a face emerged from the blackness. His father’s face - but not the rugged, handsome one he remembered. This King’s face was swollen and grey, eyes crawling with the countless wriggling forms of maggots, mouth agape in an eternal scream.

Dimitri truly did shout then, yet water filled his mouth. It entered his throat and lungs and left him choked - gasping, suffocating, _drowning--_

“Dimitri!”

Dimitri sat bolt upright as he felt a grip upon his shoulder. He sucked in breaths as a fish would on land: desperate, panicked gulps. His lungs burned in a tight chest, and Dimitri grasped around blindly upon finding himself in darkness. There was a softness beneath him, and between his fingers. A mattress. Bedsheets. His dark bed chambers.

“You’re okay.” The hushed whisper that had made Dimitri’s eyes open was one he recognised. Deep, with tones like velvet that seemed to flow as beautifully as the waters of a meandering brook.

_Dedue._

The man’s figure was outlined against the moonlight dancing around his window - broad, handsome shoulders, with loose hair tumbling across them like a pale mantle of fresh snow.

“Dedue...” Dimitri’s lips moved of their own accord, a whisper of hot breath that billowed against the chilly air.

Without needing to speak, Dedue sat beside him on the bed, pressing his back against the handsome wooden headboard. And Dimitri did as he had done so many times before, curling up beside Dedue and resting his head upon his lap.

Everything was better at once. Dimitri’s eyes closed, and for once were graced with darkness instead of the blood-red images his mind would so often conjure. He felt Dedue’s hands against his head, those strong fingers playing so delicately with the King’s hair.

“Why weren’t you in bed…?” Dimitri asked through the sleepy, panicked haze of his mind.

“I had been in the study. But I heard you crying out.”

The time must have been well past midnight; hours earlier, Dimitri and Dedue had curled up to sleep together, skin upon skin to give each other their comforting heat. Yet, now, Dedue was clothed, wearing a handsome loose shirt and the comfortable pants he donned when gardening. And, when Dimitri had awoken in his hysteria, Dedue had been standing over him instead of being wrapped up in the sheets as they'd been upon the embrace of sleep. An orange glow crept through the open doorway, indicating candlelight from somewhere beyond.

Dimitri broke the silence that had fallen. “I shall not be able to get back to sleep,” he admitted, vulnerability lining his voice.

“I understand,” Dedue said.

“Is that why you were in the study?”

A breath of a laugh left Dedue’s nose. It was a deep sound, like his voice. “My dreams catch up to me too, on occasion.”

Dimitri was all-too familiar with baleful dreams; while he knew Dedue was also haunted by them, the other man would never elaborate. Perhaps they were too painful to recount - of subjects too devastating for even Dimitri to understand. Or, most likely, Dedue kept quiet to protect his lover. It was a habit Dimitri wished for him to break, but Dedue was nothing if not protective. He would do anything if it meant keeping the King safe, whether for his physical or mental wellbeing.

“What is it you do, Dedue? When the Night Mare visits you?”

“I curse Sylvain, for letting his ghastly horses anywhere near me."

Dimitri chuckled.

“I work in the study, to take my mind away from it all,” Dedue then said, more serious this time.

“Ohh,” Dimitri felt his lips curl. “Might this work be your _project_ that you refuse to show me?”

A moment of silence passed before he received an answer. “Mayhaps.”

Dimitri’s husband had oft disappeared to the study as of late, stowing himself away in the large room originally intended for royal matters. Yet, he would not let Dimitri see what he was working on. The King expected a gift of sorts - his birthday was fast approaching, and Dedue cared too much about giving him nice surprises.

Now, though, Dedue gave a sigh. “May I show you?”

And the King’s heart leapt. He raised his head from the warmth of his husband’s lap, peering through the darkness at where a sliver of a moonbeam illuminated that rugged face. Scars lined it now - jagged across his cheekbone, and creating a gorge across both lips that Dimitri often felt in their kisses.

He kissed those lips now, feeling not only the small scar, but also the familiar softness. It would never fail to surprise him. So hard and stoic was Dedue, but his lips were as forgiving as a Lone Moon breeze: light, warm, and soft. Dedue kissed delicately, as if afraid to push any harder. Even in their moments of ardour, where their bodies would connect in lust and passion, his kisses would be gentle.

When their lips parted once more, Dimitri spoke up. “You would let me see your project?” he asked, enthusiastic as a child.

And Dedue gave that comfortingly low chuckle. “Of course.”

The two slipped from the bedsheets, and Dedue fetched Dimitri a gown at once. This one was made from velvet - the material that reminded Dimitri so much of his husband - and it enveloped the King’s bare skin as gently and comfortingly as those delicate kisses. The King found his slippers - the lamb’s wool inside tickling his toes - and followed Dedue to the door.

The Duscan prince lifted the candle that sat upon a cabinet outside the door, and used it to guide the two of them through the corridor towards the study. Dimitri was almost reminded of his childhood - sneaking around the palace by candlelight to steal midnight snacks with El--

The memory rang in his brain like a dolorous bell. Memories of his step-sister’s innocence would always sting his heart. Dimitri wrapped his fingers around his husband’s own as they padded across the plush carpet, craving his warmth, and craving to forget.

They reached the study at last, and Dimitri finally entered the room he’d been banished from for the past few weeks. But, it seemed, nothing had changed. The room was as he remembered it - everything still in place - except…

Before the lit fireplace that effused an orange glow, some materials were splayed upon the ornate mahogany desk. A quill and ink, countless scraps of parchment, graphite stationary, and a book. A closed book, thick and large as an almanac, bound in handsome dark blue leather.

Dedue headed towards it. “Originally, I intended this as a birthday gift. For you. But… I will not be able to finish it in time.”

Dimitri cocked his head slightly in curiosity. _Finish it?_ “And, why is that?” He padded closer, eyes upon the book.

Dedue held out an arm as he approached, wrapping it around Dimitri’s waist and pulling him close. Tentatively, he opened the book’s cover, to reveal a blank page. “Here, I was going to write you a message. But, I could never find the words to express what I wanted to say.” He turned the fragile paper, and Dimitri had to draw a breath.

The right page was filled with the beautiful curling script of Dedue’s handwriting, cascading across the paper in several long paragraphs. Dimitri’s eyes fell upon the top of the page, where a bold title read:

_Anemone - Windflowers_

The left page was astounding. Upon it, sketched with light pencil strokes, Dedue had drawn the plants. Never before had Dimitri seen his artistic skills, but they were like nothing he’d ever seen before. Perfect shading made the broad, flat petals look almost lifelike, and the texturing was astonishingly detailed. Dedue had even made small diagrams, with little arrows indicating each part of the flowers with small handwritten notes.

 _“Dedue,”_ Dimitri could merely breathe, reaching out to turn the page over once more. The same layout met his eyes, except with a different title:

_Baby’s Breath - Gypsophila_

And the flowers on the left page had slim, narrow petals, clinging to their branches in small round clusters.

“These are all of the plants I tend to in the gardens,” Dedue’s voice was slow, as if choosing his words carefully. “I know you like to ask about them, so I thought I’d compile all the information into one place for you. Except…” and he turned a few more pages, to where Dimitri saw a half-finished sketch - mere outlines in such tentative pencil-strokes. “... I’m taking longer than anticipated. I certainly won’t finish in time for your birthday.”

The King smiled so fondly, his heart dancing in his chest. “This is so beautiful. Dedue, I did not know you could draw.” He turned, pressing his body against Dedue’s own. He planted a peck upon that handsome broad jaw.

“In the day, gardening comforts me. Takes my mind away from everything. Of course, I cannot garden by night, but I have found that this little project helps just as much. For when the Night Mare visits.”

“It helps you to cope?” Dimitri asked, stroking through Dedue’s soft, thick hair with careful fingers.

“Precisely that, my King.” Dedue kissed Dimitri’s forehead.

“You mustn’t call me that,” he giggled in return. “I cannot tell you how much I appreciate this. Cannot thank you enough. It is more than I could ever ask for - so considerate, and heartfelt--”

“You deserve so much more.”

Dimitri’s eyelids fluttered shut, and he leant his head upon the pillowy shoulder of his love, feeling both strong arms wrap around him. “By all means, take as long as you like on it. If it keeps what torments you at bay. You should make books. You have a real talent.”

“Thank you, Dimitri.” And they both stood in place, embracing, for one long, precious moment. The window rattled ever-so-slightly from the wind outside, but it seemed no louder than a whisper against the slow, calm pulse that sounded in the King's ears. And the voice of his love blocked out all other noises of the cruel, painful world around them. “Perhaps you could help me with it, to distract your mind too.”

Dimitri needed that; something to buoy him - to keep his head above the water. “I would love that.”


End file.
